


Next Time I Fall

by Syrenslure



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrenslure/pseuds/Syrenslure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes, falling is easier than it looks, and so much harder."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Liz held the mug tightly in both of her hands, feeling the heat of the coffee seep through the ceramic and into her palms. Despite the fact that it was almost noon, she was still in the shorts and tank top that were her preferred sleepwear, and the little socks that she wore to keep her feet warm when she slept. One sock-covered foot was pulled up onto the chair she was sitting on, so that her leg was bent at the knee and hugged against her chest, while the other dangled below her, occasionally swinging back and forth.

It was comfortable and comforting. Despite the temperate weather, she felt chilly, and there was a tension in her shoulders and fingers that Michael would have recognized, had he been home. He was at the Warren's putting the finishing touches on the mural in their nursery, for their son, who had arrived five and a half weeks early, cutting short their deadline. He wasn't here, to notice, which is why Liz was so tense to begin with.

His absence meant that Liz was the one waiting by the phone for their monthly phone call, instead of Michael. In the almost three years since she and Max had parted ways, they had only talked a handful of times, usually only communicating through Michael, or occasionally Maria or Isabel.

It wasn't that it hadn't been an amicable split, at least on her part. By the time it had finally happened, she had been too tired for anything else. Despite the fairytale beginning to her marriage, they had not lived happily ever after.

Things had been stressful for six people living hand-to-mouth, on the road, constantly on top of each other. Other than Max and Isabel, they had all been only children, all used to their own space, the sanctuary of being alone and being able to shut out the world. Michael was the worst for going stir- crazy. He was used to running off to the desert to decompress when things got to be too much. Kyle tried to cope by escaping into meditation when he could, and was often the one who stayed up nights tending the fire and watching over them when they camped out. He also made a surprisingly good confidant once he had let go of his own anger.

Maria didn't handle it well at all. The uncertainty of their fate didn't suit her, and she tended to cling and become more and more insecure. The more she clung to him, the more Michael seemed to pull away, and the more threatened and lost Maria had felt. She could also be quite vicious when she was scared, lashing out at those she felt had abandoned her. After she and Michael had finally split, Maria had turned to Liz, expecting support, but Liz had little left to give at that point, as she was barely holding herself together, and sympathized more than a little with Michael. Maria just saw this as another betrayal.

He own marriage had seemed more burden than blessing most times, and she was happiest when she could escape to work. She wasn't sure why she wasn't more surprised when she came home early a few months later to find Max and Maria together in bed, but after the initial shock, she felt pretty numb. They had both apologized profusely, but Liz had seen the triumph and pride that Maria couldn't hide, as well as her anger when Max tried to convince Liz that it hadn't meant anything, because he and Liz were soulmates.

When he started to become accusing, telling her that she had been cold to him for months, and they didn't even have sex anymore, she just stopped listening. She didn't even argue with him. It was as if something had clicked into place inside of her. "You're right," was all she said, and she knew that they misunderstood. She saw Max's relief and Maria's anger as her former best friend threw off the sheets and started to dress. Liz didn't bother to correct them. Instead, she walked over to the closet, with a calmness she hadn't previously known she was capable of, to get her suitcase and began packing.

Their growing confusion was almost palpable, but it hadn't really touched her, nor had she wished to hear any of the things that they had been trying to say to her. At one point, Max had grabbed her arm to stop her, his face red with rage, and she had just stood there, and looked pointedly at his hand, where it wrapped around her upper arm, until it fell away.

In the end, it took three days for it to all end. She had just been the first to say it. At dinner that night, she calmly told them all that she was leaving. Max had begun to yell, telling her why she couldn't do that, and why she shouldn't be like that. She had just smiled and looked out the window, far away, as she finished her dinner, not participating in the furious conversation all around her. It hadn't been a request.

They had all worked it out, despite Max's objections. Isabel and Kyle had wanted to leave as well, but she couldn't be the first to abandon her brother. Kyle had used the argument that they would make much smaller targets apart than together. Max argued that she couldn't be alone, no one could, because too much could happen. Michael, in one of the few things he had said during the whole argument, said that he'd go with her. Liz almost smiled, though she knew she had been the only one that had been the least bit happy. For the first time in years, she had felt a modicum of freedom.

It actually had worked out pretty well. Max needed to be a hero, and Maria needed to be saved. They currently lived in Washington and had a little girl named Diane, after Max and Isabel's adopted mother.

Kyle and Isabel were living in Connecticut, a couple of hours outside of New York City. Kyle had become a semi-famous science fiction author. Jesses helped manage his contracts, and handled any legal papers any of them needed. He and Isabel have remained friends, despite their divorce. He remarried several years ago, and had two kids of his own. Isabel was expecting her first in a couple of months.

Michael and she were the odd couple. They were still living together, though in separate rooms, and ran a small decorating business out of the studio downstairs. She sewed, ordered materials, and kept the books, but the real stars of their business were Michael's murals. He designed most of the spaces, usually around a custom wall-sized painting. Nurseries were their most popular commission, but he had done a few for businesses and waiting rooms, even a large Tuscan fresco for a famous actor's kitchen.

They operated mostly by referral these days, and there was a bit less notoriety than gallery pieces – which suited them fine. Michael said he appreciated the scale. He'd never been one for small gestures. She liked the idea of creating homes, cozy living spaces for families, capturing that unique spark of what each person loved. It's not a science, but she wasn't disappointed – not it that, at least.

She missed the idea of having her own family, her own nursery to design, and furnish, and fill. She'd known for a while though, that there was only one man who could help her to make that dream come true, but he wasn't one for cages – no matter how guided.

It was a bit depressing to think about, and she sighed as she stood and moved to refill her coffee cup. It was 11:37. Max would call in just over twenty minutes. Part of her still wished that she didn't have to talk to him, but she was *mostly* happy with the life that they had here, and she didn't begrudge him this. These check-ins were good for them all, and made him feel like he was looking out for them– if in name only - as always.

The sound of a motorcycle outside jarred her out of her brooding, and she cocked her head to the side to listen. Liz smiled, as the screen door bounced shut behind her, just as the phone rang. Michael walked over to answer it, as if she wasn't here. She smiled into her coffee, as he grunted into the phone in greeting.

His carpenter jeans and white t-shirt clung to him in a way that ought to be illegal, and the splatters of paint on his clothes, and arms, and face were even sexier. Michael was never neat when he was painting, and she loved to watch him, when he was lost in his work. He concentrated as if he was making love to the wall.

Liz swallowed down the last of her coffee and put the mug in the sink, then headed down the hall to take her shower – a cold one – before Michael finished on the phone and started to complain about needing it himself.

He had little patience and was constantly on the move, but she liked that aspect of him. He kept her on her toes, and her mind agile, with his banter. He was still moody and taciturn at times, especially around people he didn't know, but they were much more comfortable together and in each other's space than they had been at first.

She had never known anyone with so much energy. He liked to tease her about being lazy, since he only slept about four or five hours a night, and stayed pretty busy the hours in-between. Even when he was just sprawled out on the couch, watching television, he never truly seemed still – an idea reinforced by the things he would say, or comment on, seemingly out of the blue, when she thought he was completely engrossed in whatever program he was watching. He often got his creative ideas then, too. They had taken to leaving sketch pads all over the apartment, even one under the couch, that he could grab at a moment's notice, after he had jumped up and gone to the studio to find his inspiration gone, one time too many.

Liz didn't mind. The apartment was clean, if a little cluttered, but neither of them was fanatical about it. He cooked most of the time, and took care of the dishes. She did the laundry – what was in the baskets or on the washer, only. He changed the light bulbs, and fixed the plumbing. She vacuumed and did the grocery shopping. It worked for them.

"It's just..." she thought as she tilted her head under the water to wash out the suds, "Sometimes, I wish it was more..." The worst part of her day was the moment that she had to tell him goodnight and go lay in her own bed, alone. No matter how tired she was, it took her forever to fall asleep, wishing for the warmth of his body beside her, his breath teasing her nape.

She ran her fingers down her neck, behind her ear, imagining it, and shuddered in response. She was considering taking things further, and doing something about her frustration, when the man in mind began banging on the door, as she had predicted.

"Liz, get your skinny, little butt out of there already. Some of us work for a living."

She sighed and twisted the water off, with a small smile, in spite of herself. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on. Far be it for me to stand between you and a shower."

She quickly toweled off her hair, and wrapped her robe around herself, before opening the door to find Michael leaning against the frame. She smiled at him cheekily. "It's all yours, dear, take your time." She wrinkled her nose at him, to intimate he smelled bad, even though the truth was anything but, and then flounced down the hall toward her room.

His chuckle followed her down the hall, but he played along. "Right. You probably used up all of the hot water. Didn't you, Parker?"

Liz just snorted, and replied, half under her breath, "So- not a problem," as she walked into her room. She didn't realize that he had heard her, and she missed the inscrutable look her sent her way, before he closed the bathroom door.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=100>  



	2. Chapter 2

Liz was curled up in her favorite chair, he legs crossed in the wide seat, with her paperwork spread over her knees, and nibbling on her pen, when Michael came back out a while later, dressed in loose sweats, and carrying his t-shirt. He sat in the chair across from her, and waited for her to take a break, while he flexed his left arm and rolled his shoulder.

"Did you finish the Warren's?"

Michael rolled his eyes, since they both knew that he wouldn't have left it unfinished, and would have told her sooner, if there had been a problem. "It's done. Even got the mother-in-law's seal of approval."

Michael made a sound that showed his opinion of that woman, and Liz tried to hide her amusement. She had been a real nightmare for them, but it had been a large commission for an otherwise nice young couple who paid very well.

"Well, we have the Morgan's and the Cho's scheduled, but neither of them are due to start for another two weeks. Do you want me to call the Morgans, and see if they want to move it up?"

Michael thought about it, while he rubbed at his shoulder. "Yeah, but not before Friday. I want to work on some sketches this week."

Liz nodded and made a note. When she looked up again, she noticed Michael rubbing his upper arm, and he still hadn't put his shirt on. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

Michael shrugged, and then winced at the motion. "Pulled it, putting up the light fixture."

"Michael..." her tone was slightly chiding, but he could tell that she was worried.

"I was in a hurry, and I didn't have a good grip on it. My foot slipped and I over-balanced."

Liz lowered her eyes to her lap, because she knew she was the reason that he had rushed. There had still been quite a bit to do. When she had left to get dinner last night, he was still working on the main part of the mural.

"You got everything done?" They both knew that she was really asking if he had used his powers.

"Yeah," was all he said, and she just nodded.

She wasn't upset. She knew that he had been careful, and neither of them made a habit of using their gifts. He would much rather create the images himself, anyway. They both knew that each risk brought the possibility of exposure and disruption of the life that they had built here. He had as much or more at stake than she did, and he knew it.

Still, she felt guilty about his injury, and for putting him in that position, all because she would rather not have a phone conversation with her ex-husband. She could at least help him feel a little better. Unlike her, Michael couldn't just pop a couple of aspirin, and call it a night, and while the warmth of the shower would have helped to loosen the muscles, the only recourse left was for her to help him. Neither of them was great with healing, but a little bit when combined with a good massage could go a long way toward fixing sore or pulled muscles.

She really didn't want to explore her reluctance to touch him, or why he hadn't asked for help when he was obviously hurting; instead, she busied herself with putting away her files and papers, and tried not to look at him for the moment. It wasn't the first time she had given him a massage, or he had given her one, but there was a tension between them lately that was getting harder to ignore. She gnawed on her lower lip as she thought about it. Part of her wondered if he felt the same way, but she was pretty sure he felt it too. She just hadn't decided if that was a good thing, yet.

She decided not to make a big deal about it. The more she thought about it, the jumpier she would be, and that would only draw attention to the problem, and she really didn't want that. She set her mind firmly on the task, and stacked her files and papers in a neat pile on the table. She stood and circled around the room to come up behind Michael, before she could think too much about it and freak herself out.

Despite her intentions, her breath caught in her throat at the first touch of her hands on his shoulders, and he tensed a bit, even though he had expected her touch. They both took a moment to adjust, and he exhaled loudly and dropped his shoulders a bit just as her hands started gliding over the taut muscles.

It was almost hypnotic, watching her hands press and glide against his smooth, sun-kissed skin, feeling his ribs expand and contract with each breath until she fell into the same rhythm. She grabbed the bottle of unscented hypoallergenic lotion off of the mantle behind her and poured some into her hands. She rubbed them together and then carefully smoothed it over his entire back, over the curve of his shoulders, down the top of his arms, and across the ridge of his spine. Her fingers ghosted over the few freckles and moles scattered over the otherwise flawless skin, as if they were braille, telling his story.

Careful not to let her indulgence last too long, she slid her hands up to the affected shoulder and began to gently probe it for injury. There was some bruising and a small tear in the muscle that she could sense. She closed her eyes and let the energy flow down from the top of her head, and up from her bare feet, to gather just below her breasts. She let it flow through her arms and out her hands and fingers to where it was needed as she gently massaged him with a steady rhythm.

She could feel the connection as her aura touched his and the energy that she thought of as 'Michael' reached back toward her, wrapped around her and welcomed her in. Together, they directed the healing energy into the injured muscles, until she felt the pull begin to stop. She felt their energy pulse together for a few moments more, and then drew in a slow, deep breath, and reluctantly drew her aura back into herself.

She always felt a bit charged after they did this, and unwilling to just stop touching him - or having him touch her, when she was the injured one, like when she had sprained her ankle tripping over something in the shop a few weeks ago. Lately, though, it was even harder, as her awareness of him had increased ever since the party for the opening of the new children's clinic a few months ago.

They usually avoided public attention, but they had been put on the guest list for a private party held for the donors and contributors to the new clinic. Michael's fairy tale mural in the waiting area had been beautiful and very well received. They had a lot of fun. Neither of them sampled the champagne that was flowing freely around the room, but she had felt a bit giddy, as she had pulled him out onto the dance floor to rescue him from a small group of geriatric women who were trying to get him to partner them around the floor.

She had felt like she was floating, as he held her in his arms - like she was a princess straight out of one of his paintings. The feeling hadn't really ended when the dance did. They had grown quite comfortable together over the last few years. They would cuddle up together to watch tv, or horse around when they were feeling playful, but every time that he was near her lately, she like she was being drawn deeper and deeper into his personal orbit. She knew he was an attractive man, and she was beginning to realize how attracted to him she was personally - very personally. Unfortunately, she was falling hard for her roommate and best friend, and that hardly ever ended well.

With a sigh, she brought her hands to a rest on his shoulders. She needed to put some space between them, and soon. She started to move away, but his right hand came up to catch her hand on his left shoulder. He didn't turn or say anything, just held her there. She forgot herself, and in a moment of tenderness, she used her other hand to brush his hair to the side and pressed her lips to the nape of his neck. His hand tightened over hers, and she realized that her other hand was tangled in his hair, and she was kissing him. She jerked her hands free and backed up so fast that she almost tripped.

She stuttered something vague and fled from the room with her face burning. She'd make some excuse later, if she had to, but she hoped that he would just ignore it. She bit her lip and grimaced as she reached her room, because stumbling over herself and running away was not the best way play down the situation. It was going to have to be a really good excuse.

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to think of it, because Michael came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped with nervous tension and fumbled the door handle to her room. He turned her to face him. Then she wasn't thinking at all any more, because Michael was kissing her.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=100>  



	3. Chapter 3

One of his hands came up to tangle in her hair as she opened her mouth and surrendered to his kiss. The other slid down her back to the base of her spine and pulled her flush against him. She hadn't been expecting this, not even hoping for it, despite the desire that was her near constant companion for the past few weeks. She was breathless when he finally broke the kiss, and she could feel the way he was fighting to pull the air into his own lungs. The tension that she could feel in his body showed that she wasn't alone in this and it made her feel more confident, sexy and powerful to know that she could make him feel as out of control as he did her.

This new awareness burned in her, when he started to pull away from her, and she refused to let him go. She could see the fear in his eyes, but also the need that he tried to keep shielded from her gaze. He started to speak, still trying to back away, and she stopped him by placing her fingers over his lips, and stepping up to close the space between them.

"Don't, Michael. I... I don't want you to be sorry, and..." her breath stuttered as she sought the courage to speak. "I don't want you to stop. I don't regret this, not unless you walk away. Even then - I'll be sad, but I won't regret it."

He took her hand in his, lifting it from his mouth. "Liz, we can't. I can't do this. If this goes wrong. I can't give this up; I can't give you up. You're my best friend." He paused, squeezing her hand, a resigned look on his face. "I didn't mean to.... I'm sorry." He dropped her hand then, and ran his fingers through his hair. The look on his face begged her to understand.

"Oh, Michael. I'm sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry that you kissed me. Never that, but I don't want to hurt you either. You know that. Right? I didn't mean for you to - to find out - to know, but I guess I kind of suck at that." She tried to smile then. "You aren't going to lose me, Michael. Not now, not ever. You're my best friend too, and I love you." Her voice was quiet on those last words, and she looked down, begging him to understand, to forgive her.

His hand gripped her chin, raising her face to his as he searched it for something. Again, she tried to smile, as she backed away from the intensity of his gaze. Her back hit the door, and he followed her. Her name spilled from his lips like a broken plea and he kissed her again. There was no tentativeness in his touch this time, no question as he claimed her with a searing kiss that was like a brand on her soul. Her hands came up to grasp at his bare chest and she answered him in kind, melting against him in the heat that they generated between them.

His hand reached her hip and down further to lift her leg against him, until his fleece covered erection pushed intimately between the juncture of her thighs, as if it could burrow into her through the barriers of their clothing. She rocked against him, held up by his grip and the door at her back.

He groaned into her mouth, and then he pulled away just enough to dip his head and rest his forehead against hers. "Tell me that you want this, Liz. Tell me that you want me, while I can still stop, while I can still walk away from this. I won't let you go, Liz. I can't go back, if we do this. Tell me that you get that, that you want this."

"Oh, Michael." She gently kissed his lips. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. I do want you, Michael. I want this. I need you. You have to know that."

He gave her a brief smile, but she could feel some of the tension leave him, even as his erection surged against her at her words. "Good. Now, how about we take this inside, because you weigh a ton, and there is a perfectly good bed on the other side of this door."

She slapped him playfully on his chest as they disentangled themselves. "I'm not fat. You're just old. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you," she said playfully as she ducked into the room with him hot on her heels.

"I'll show you old, woman," he growled as he advanced on her.

She giggled and whipped her shirt off and threw it at him as he came toward her. He caught it deftly, and then dropped it as he caught up to her. He spun her around and pulled her back against his chest, stooping a few inches to brace himself and to pull her hips back until her bottom was pressed against his groin. With his other hand, he brushed her hair to one side and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"You are so beautiful, Liz. You don't know how long I've waited for you, to see you look at me like that. I'm going to touch every inch of you, taste every part of you." He interrupted his speech to show her what he meant, trailing kisses down the side of her neck, nipping the soft skin below her ear, at the place where her neck met her collar bone. She tried to turn in his arms, to reach for his lips with her open, but her held her tight. He began speaking again, his low, passion-roughened voice sending shivers through her, as he opened her shorts and pushed them down her hips to pool at her feet. "I'm going to keep going until you forget everything except for me touching you, and when you think you can't take anymore, I'm going to do it all over again." With those words, his hand slid down her stomach and under the elastic of her panties. She trembled and cried out, almost tipping over the edge at the first touch of his fingers in her damp folds, but he spread his fingers wide, holding her open, bucking under his hand, craving satisfaction.

"Please," she begged.

"Shh. Shh. Not yet." He kissed the bare skin of her shoulder. "Not yet, Liz. Trust me."

She ceased her struggle and collapsed back against him.

"Good girl." He slid his hand away from her sex and pushed her panties down, helping her to kick them and her shorts away, and stepped back to unfasten her bra and slide the straps down her arms.

She shivered at his touch, every nerve ending aware and aching for him. She turned around to see him ridding himself of his sweatpants, the last barrier between them. Her breath caught at the perfection of his muscled form, over his broad chest, chiseled abs, and his erection standing out proudly from a nest of dark blond hair proclaiming his desire for her. She reached for him instinctively and wrapped one small hand around his length. He moaned at her touch and she could see the iridescent wetness on the tip of his penis in the low light. She licked her lips in an unconscious gesture.

He grabbed for her then, lifting her in his arms and putting her on the bed, covering her body with his own. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, and shifted to plunge two fingers into her aching sex. He moved them in and out, stretching her, opening her, mimicking the act that she longed for. His thumb grazed her clit and she couldn't take anymore. Lights flashed behind her eyes as they drifted closed and she came apart in his arms. He swallowed her cries in his mouth, as he slid his fingers free and rocked her through the aftershocks of her completion.

Even as her tremors eased, her desire for him built, and he didn't stop. Her clit was ultra-sensitive, and on her own she rarely kept touching it once she achieved an orgasm, but he pulled back just enough to gently stroke over the tip. He spread her wetness up and over it, making a smooth, silky path to slide his calloused fingertip tenderly over and over her clit, occasionally scraping it with just the tip of his fingernail. It was pleasure and sheer torture at the same time.

He danced along that fine line between too much stimulation for her post-orgasmic state and not enough to send her over the edge again, until she was trembling in his arms. Liz's body shook with a will of its own as little bursts of pleasure shot through her and her hips were bucking against the mattress, seeking more, trying to get away from the madness that he was causing with the barest caress.

"Please! Please, Michael," she begged him to ease her torment and give her what she wanted, though she was beyond knowing what that was. He answered by latching onto her right nipple with his lips and plunging his fingers into her ache. She felt her muscles flutter around his fingers and pleasure spread through her trembling body. It wasn't enough to assuage her need.

Liz raised her knees and used them to pull him up to where she needed him, while she grasped his face with both of her hands to seek his lips with her own in a searing kiss.

Michael groaned into her mouth and pushed his hardness deep into her, filling her in a way that was beyond her imagining. He rocked into her and she could feel his control slipping in the way the muscles of his back arms trembled beneath her hands. She rose to meet each stroke. His wiry pubic hair rubbed against her engorged and exposed clit, and she sought more pressure, grinding up against him. He answered by lowering his hips against hers, leaning his weight on her as she thrashed below him, finally achieving another peak.

Liz cried out his name, latching onto his shoulder with her mouth, biting down none to gently as she lost all control. That was Michael's undoing as well, and as she spasmed around him, she could feel him flooding her channel with his own release.

Their bodies were both damp with sweat and loose limbed from exhaustion, as he collapsed on top of her, barely holding enough of his weight on his arms so that she could breath properly. Carefully, he brushed her wet hair out of her face, and kissed her so slowly and softly that she thought she was melting.

She ran her fingers gently through his hair, feeling the damp, thick strands curl around her fingers as she captured his gaze with her own. Liz looked deeply into his eyes and everything that Michael felt was laid bare in them. She had never seen him so vulnerable. She couldn't resist his unspoken plea. "I love you, Michael."

He gave her a boyish smile and tugged at a lock of her hair. "I know, Liz. I... I love you, too," he said without artifice.

"Good. So could you get off me now, you big oaf, 'cause you weigh a ton'," she said jokingly, echoing his earlier words, with a smile on her face and laughter in her eyes.

He chuckled. "Is that so, Parker?" He poked her just under her ribs to tickle her as she slid off of her onto his side. "Because I didn't hear you complaining a few minutes ago. 'Please, Michael. More, Michael,'" he mimicked with a smile as he gazed down at her.

"Is that so? Well, maybe next time, I'll be on top, and we'll see who's saying 'please'."

"Is that a challenge, Parker? Think you can make me beg?"

"Oh, I know it."

He made a thoughtful noise that rumbled deep in his throat. "We'll see. After we take a nap, and you feed me, woman. Got to keep up my strength so that I can manhandle you."

"Oh!" Liz's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "You are so going to get it, Michael."

She launched herself at him, and he caught her and tucked her up against his body, in his arms. "Yup, and so are you. Now, go to sleep. I don't want you passing out early in round two - at least not from exhaustion."

He laughed gently and it warmed her through, as she followed his advice, falling into a peaceful sleep in his arms. This was how love was meant to be, and they would get it right this time around.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=100>  



End file.
